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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302677">Dah'es</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776'>startraveller776</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Through the Dark Mirror [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Enterprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Mirror Universe, Mirror Universe (Star Trek), Prime universe, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:34:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The newly ascended empress Hoshi Sato plans to make a public example out of T'Pol for scheming against the mighty Terran Empire. Trip, however, has other ideas. <strong>(PERPETUALLY INCOMPLETE)</strong></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>T'Pol/Charles "Trip" Tucker III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Through the Dark Mirror [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dah'es</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>There will be no further updates to this story. Read at your own peril.</strong>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>It would be in your best interest to escape the</em> Defiant <em>once the attack begins</em>.</p><p>The simple warning winked onto the screen after Trip cracked the encryption. It had been sent to the terminal in his office, the time stamp indicating its arrival shortly before Phlox had started dismantling essential systems on the ship. Trip hadn’t been in Engineering when the message arrived; he hadn’t had time to bother with paperwork until the dust settled on Sato’s—<em>Empress</em> Sato’s—radical coup.</p><p>The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he read the words again. T’Pol had tried to save him. That treasonous Vulcan had tried to alert him of her plans. He snorted. Not that the message would have done him any good had she succeeded. He would have been as dead as the rest of the crew.</p><p>But still, she had <em>tried.</em></p><p>He ran a hand over his face with a growl. Just when he’d made peace with the notion of her impending execution, just when he had concrete evidence that she was as capable of sticking a knife in his spine as anyone else, she’d thrown him into another goddamn tailspin. He wished he never met her, never accepted a commission on the <em>Enterprise.</em> Why’d he want to work on the Empire’s best warship, anyway?</p><p>He glanced at the bulkhead, somewhere in the general direction of the brig. He hadn’t gone to visit her since she’d been thrown in there. Hell, until Sato announced the names of the traitors she planned to execute, Trip thought T’Pol had gone down with the <em>Avenger. </em></p><p>No, that was a lie. He knew she was alive, though he couldn’t explain how. He rationalized she’d somehow gotten to an escape pod, one that miraculously slipped past the <em>Defiant’s</em> sensors. He might have indulged in a fantasy or two of having the guts to steal a shuttlepod and hunt her down. What came after that depended on how enraged he was feeling in the moment.</p><p>Goddamn, but he <em>hated</em> that woman. He hated more that he had this shitty connection to her that he couldn’t seem to sever. She was his own personal Orion siren, pulling his puppet strings even though she was supposed to be the slave.</p><p>Son of a bitch. She really was going to be the death of him.</p><p>His fingers flew across the touchscreen. He didn’t delete the message; a void in the logs would draw attention. While Sato seemed far less paranoid than Archer had been, she was sharp as a tack—sharper. Trip altered the statement instead, turned it into a vicious parting shot from T’Pol. He used the time she crowed about screwing with his mind as inspiration. Re-encrypted and archived, the thing shouldn’t raise any suspicion that he was even considering the cockamamie idea of rescuing her.</p><p>Which he <em>wasn’t</em>.</p><p>He had to see her. Maybe if he laid eyes on her, he’d snap out of this insanity spiral. Maybe he’d remember how she’d gutted him time and again. Maybe he’d realize that she wasn’t worth risking everything for.</p><p>Yeah, and maybe he’d become one of the empress’s concubines.</p>
<hr/><p>T’Pol sat rigidly in an unforgiving metal chair, arms bound so tightly behind her for so long that the throbbing pain in her shoulders and back had finally given way to numbness. She’d been deprived of food and water for days. She’d been beaten and suffered other disgraces at the hands of her guards. None of it mattered, of course—not when her demise was imminent.</p><p>The one freedom left to her was her mind, and she poured her energy into establishing <em>Venlinahr</em>, a discipline that had eluded her for far too long. At any moment, Sato would have her killed, and T'Pol would meet her death with the dignity of a Vulcan. She hoped it would be broadcast across the Empire. She hoped her execution would be pivotal in inspiring the rebels. She could not accept that she had risked everything in vain.</p><p>The resonant hum of the brig's forcefield went silent and, without looking up, T'Pol knew who her guest was. Tucker had come to gloat over her, or to exact his revenge for her final betrayal. Either way, she was unconcerned. She would remain as calm under his savage ministrations as she’d been with her jailers.</p><p>She would feel nothing. Not when he drew close to her, preceded by that familiar scent of grease, sweat, and <em>him</em>. Not when he leaned down, his warm breath stirring the hair veiling her face.</p><p>Tucker pressed two fingers beneath her chin, tipped it up, forcing her to meet his gaze. She expected his face to broadcast fury or disgust, but instead, all she could discern was curiosity, perhaps even confusion.</p><p>“That’s funny. I thought I’d want to strangle you as soon as I laid eyes on you.” There was a hint of resignation in his voice as he brushed the hair from her forehead. “I should break your neck right now, all things considered.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I don't want to, though. I <em>should</em> want to, but I don't."</p><p>T’Pol kept her expression blank, willed away the sudden stricture in her lungs. His words were meaningless.</p><p>He squinted at her. "You're dead already, aren't you?" His eyes traced the contours of her features, pausing briefly on the bruises she surely had. "Yep. You've resigned yourself to your fate. I can't say that you don't deserve what the empress has in store for you. But it kinda bothers me that I'm not enthusiastic about it—especially considering what you’ve done to me." He frowned. "Is that because of the bond?"</p><p>She blinked at the reference, but made no reply. She would not be goaded by him. She would not participate in his twisted human games with what little time she had left to live.</p><p>His mouth thinned into a strained line and he grabbed her jaw. "That was not a rhetorical question, Commander."</p><p>"What bond?" she responded in a cool tone.</p><p>He smirked, dropping his hand. "Still going with that ol' song and dance, I see. Maybe you're not as smart as you think you are." He bent forward, his next words hardly more than a breath against her ear: "Got your message, by the way, hon. 'Course I didn't have time to decrypt it until <em>after </em>the <em>Avenger</em> was destroyed, but it was a sweet gesture anyway."</p><p>She stared at him as he straightened and stepped over to the small bunk in the cell. Was that why he wasn’t angry with her?</p><p>He settled on the thin mattress, leaning back on his elbow as if they were having a casual conversation. “I suppose you think your death is somehow going to rally the rebels."</p><p>She turned away, unable to hide her surprise at his statement. He’d merely drawn a logical conclusion. He couldn’t read her thoughts through the bond he seemed so certain they shared. Impossible.</p><p>"Huh. I guess you're only talkative when you're bragging about what you've done to me—then I can't get you to shut up." His soft, rasping laugh was brittle. "Is that what turns you on, darlin’?"</p><p>She clenched her jaw, refused to look at him. "What is it that you want, Commander Tucker?"</p><p>The mattress squeaked, and his boots marked slow footfalls against the floor with quiet taps until they stopped behind her chair. She suppressed a shiver when his lips grazed the pointed shell of her ear. “What do I want? I want you all to myself. I want you to say that you’re <em>mine.</em>"</p><p><em>Cool hands. Blue eyes. </em>T’Pol forced the air from her chest in a steady exhale. She ignored the heat that surged by instinct at his provocative statement. He was <em>not</em> Vulcan. He could not lay claim to her, no matter her primal impulse to surrender to this insoluble <em>thing</em> they shared.</p><p>Tucker circled the chair, stood before her again. "Betcha if I asked, the empress would let me have you," he said, licking his lips, "at least one last time before your execution." He caressed her cheek with his calloused fingers. "That would probably make the bond stronger, though. Can't have that if I want to survive your death, now can I?" He sighed. "Too bad."</p><p>T’Pol watched a tumult of emotions flicker across his face. His words hung between them, weighted with something deeper than a superficial disappointment at not having another sexual encounter. For an absurd moment, she wondered what their relationship would have been like had she accepted his uncharacteristic kindness those years ago—the morning after he’d saved her from her unexpected Pon’Farr. But no. It was useless to speculate.</p><p>It wouldn’t make a difference now.</p><p>Without warning, he took her face in his hands, pressed his mouth over hers in a deep kiss. She tried not to answer the <em>need</em> in the contact, but an onslaught of raw yearning, rage, and regret poured into her. It crashed against her veneer of icy calmness, shattered it, and she tilted her head to meet him, to let him taste the despondent hunger rising like a violent tide inside of her. This was wholly illogical, and yet, inexplicably fundamental—like contrasting charges eternally drawn to one another.</p><p>He pulled away, resting his head against hers. "Goddammit, woman. The things you do to me…" There was no anger in his voice, only sorrow. He kissed her forehead. "Goodbye, T'Pol."</p><p>He left without another word, and she was certain that he’d taken a sliver of her <em>katra</em> with him. The thought settled like poison in her gut, and for the first time, she was grateful that Sato would execute her soon. Otherwise, T’Pol would have to admit the possibility that Tucker was right after all.</p><p>They were, indeed, bonded.</p>
<hr/><p>Trip waited until he was alone in the turbolift before he sagged against the wall, cursing under his breath. It hadn’t worked. Seeing T’Pol hadn’t awakened a roaring desire for vengeance within him, even when he counted all the ways she betrayed him. Oh, he still despised her, despised what she’d done to him, and yes, it’d be easy to let Sato solve his problem. Except that’s what it was—what T’Pol was—<em>his.</em></p><p>He’d sooner overload the warp core and blow them all to kingdom come before he let anyone take her from him again.</p><p>That was probably the bond talking, but he found he didn’t care anymore. She belonged to him. Her lithe body, her glares when they danced around one another, the way her breath caught when he crossed into her personal space and made a salacious comment. Even her betrayal of him. <em>His</em>. All of it.</p><p>Of course, the new empress wasn’t going to offer T’Pol up to him on a silver platter, pretty as you please. He was going to have to scheme like the rest of the bastards on this ship—<em>better </em>than them. The days of keeping his head down and surviving this hellish existence were at an end. He straightened, jabbing a finger at the touch panel in the wall to change destinations.</p><p>A minute or two later, the lift doors slid open with a hiss, and he stepped out onto the deck that Sato had commandeered for her imperial quarters. A pair of guards, holding phase rifles at the ready, stood a meter ahead, faces grim, eyes hard as they looked Trip over. He didn’t recognize either of them, though he wasn’t surprised. After Sato had taken the throne, she’d begun filling out <em>Defiant’s</em> crew complement.</p><p>“State your purpose,” one of the men demanded.</p><p>Trip raised his hands. “Commander Tucker to seek an audience with the empress.”</p><p>The man who’d addressed him shook his head. He opened his mouth, probably to tell Trip to be on his way, but another voice spoke over him.</p><p>“I’ll take care of this.”</p><p>Colonel Mayweather—no, he was a <em>general</em> now—stepped out from one of the rooms farther down the corridor. He looked far too youthful for all the gleaming medals hanging on his crisp uniform. The former boomer was hardly more than a boy when he’d been conscripted into service, <em>Enterprise</em> his first posting. Then again, that’s likely what Sato wanted in a consort: someone naively loyal and completely malleable.</p><p>Maywweather jerked a nod at the two guards, and the pair stepped aside. Trip strode over to the young general, aware of the phaser rifles following his every movement. Not that he expected anything less than being treated as a potential threat. He’d learned long ago that the more authority you had, the more that power became like antimatter in a faulty containment field. You did everything you could to patch up the holes, but it was only a matter of time before it blew up in your face. That was the way of things, always had been, and Trip never thought twice about it until he learned about his counterpart. Now he had to shove away an errant thought about life with<em>out</em> an axe constantly hanging above his neck.</p><p>Damn that other universe.</p><p>“Commander Tucker.” Mayweather returned Trip’s salute. “I’m surprised to see you here. Everything okay in Engineering?”</p><p>Trip schooled his expression to something he hoped was respectful, though it was plain odd to hear the younger man string together so many words at once. “Just peachy,” he answered, then hastily added a “sir.”</p><p>Mayweather nodded gravely like he hadn’t been a nameless MACO grunt hardly more than a week ago. The kid had clearly taken to his new role like a fish to water. “Good to hear. What brings you to us, then?”</p><p>Trip licked his lips, glancing past the other man. He’d counted on making his case to Sato herself. Mayweather was an unpredictable variable. The hell? <em>Unpredictable</em> <em>variable?</em> Trip frowned. That sounded disturbingly Vulcan.</p><p>“Something wrong, Commander?”</p><p>Every damn thing in his life, Trip wanted to say. But that wasn’t Mayweather’s business. “No,” he said, “I was just hoping to have a word with the empress about something personal.”</p><p>Mayweather’s eyes narrowed a fraction as he studied Trip. There was shrewdness in that piercing gaze, and Trip amended his earlier assessment of the younger man. He was pretty sure that Mayweather hadn’t fallen into being Sato’s number one lackey by virtue of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, sir. That kid had maneuvered himself into the job. How long would it be before everyone was bowing to Emperor Mayweather?</p><p>After a tense beat, Mayweather finally relented. “All right.” He turned, strode toward Sato’s quarters without a backward glance.</p><p>Trip hurried to catch up, though he stayed a dutiful step behind.</p><p>Another set of soldiers guarded Sato’s quarters. They gave Mayweather a quick hail and opened the gilded doors. Trip had to bite his lip to keep from whistling at the decadence inside. The empress must have had workers around the clock to transform a handful of simple officer’s quarters into a proper throne room. The walls were painted black with golden filigrees. What was that pattern called again—the one his mother decorated the Tucker estate with? That’s right. Fleur-de-lis. A dozen servants knelt on either side of the aisle, heads bowed, waiting on the beck and call of their master.</p><p>At the end of the hall, beneath the huge insignia of the Terran Empire, a large throne sat at the top of a tall marble dais. From the intricately woven gold and silver of the imposing chair, if Trip remembered the holos of the royal family from grammar school correctly, that was the actual seat of power taken from the now devastated fortress of the last ruler. The bastard hadn’t surrendered to Sato’s demands and his arrogance ended up costing a few hundred lives—including his own.</p><p>Sato was dressed in a leather bodysuit, overlaid with a golden high-collared coat that trailed past her feet as she stood next to her throne. She spoke in a huddled whisper with a short man in a MACO’s uniform, slender fingers curling over one of the armrests of the ornate chair as if it would disappear as soon as her back was turned. She glanced up at Mayweather, and the soldier she’d been talking to followed her gaze over his shoulder. Trip ground his teeth when he recognized Reed. The jackass hadn’t had the good graces to die during the hunt for the Gorn.</p><p>Sato murmured something to Reed, then waved her hand in dismissal. He saluted, gave her a deep bow before jogging down the shining steps. He saluted Mayweather and Trip as he passed, glaring daggers at the latter. Trip gave him a cold smile in return. At least the bastard was as scarred as he was. Karma was a bitch.</p><p>Trip had known that Reed was behind his “accident” in Engineering four years ago, but it took too long for him to pin down the man’s motive. A MACO had nothing to gain by taking out the chief engineer—unless he was in cahoots with an ambitious first officer looking to make sure he had all the senior officers squarely in his pocket before he went after the captain’s chair.</p><p>Trip was too new then, too unknown for Archer to trust, especially after he’d invested so much time grooming another for the job. Trip finally put it together a year later when Kelby attempted to give himself a promotion with a formal challenge. He’d assumed that Trip’s aversion to stirring up unnecessary drama meant weakness. He learned a deadly lesson about Commander Tucker that day.</p><p>You didn’t have to like killing in order to be good at it—or, at least, good <em>enough</em>.</p><p>Unfortunately, Trip didn’t have any solid proof of Reed’s attempt on his life, and so they went on circling each other with baleful glowers.</p><p>Mayweather gave Trip’s leg a hard nudge with his boot, snapping him back to the present. They’d reached the base of the dais, and Trip scrambled to kneel before the throne, bending almost low enough to touch his forehead against the deck plating.</p><p>“Well, Well, Well,” Sato said. “What have you brought me, General? Don’t tell me that the best engineer in Starfleet has gotten himself into trouble. I’d really hate to lose such a good little company man.”</p><p>Trip gritted his teeth at the implied insult. She underestimated him like everyone else did, but then, he couldn’t exactly blame her, could he? Until recently, he hadn’t cared about anything other than survival and his engines. He swallowed back a savage retort begging to be let loose, reminding himself that this was how he needed her to see him—as a docile minion.</p><p>“No, your majesty,” Mayweather replied. “Commander Tucker says he has a…<em>personal</em>…matter to discuss with you.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Sato sounded amused, though she waited several uncomfortable beats before going on. “I suppose I have some discretionary time. You may rise, Commander.”</p><p>Trip pushed off the floor, resisting the temptation to stretch the budding knot between his shoulder blades as he stood. He cast a glance at Mayweather, expecting Sato to dismiss him. She didn’t.</p><p>“Well?” she said with a hint of impatience. “I said I have <em>some</em> time, not all day. Out with it.”</p><p>Trip didn’t know why he thought he’d get a private audience with the empress. He sucked in a deep breath. It was do or die time. “I petition your majesty for the Right of Reprisal.”</p><p>Sato raised her brows and shared a look with Mayweather. “You?” she asked. “The well-behaved chief engineer who avoids conflict at all costs—especially when he shouldn’t—now wants government sanctioned vengeance?”</p><p>Trip’s nails painfully dug into his palms, and he forced his hands to unfurl but not quickly enough. Sato gave them a significant look before meeting his eyes again.</p><p>She sat back in her throne. “As much as I would like to grant your petition, I just can’t have you trying to kill my chief security officer. General Mayweather has far too much on his plate already with the entire fleet. I’m afraid you’re going to have to put on your big boy pants and learn how to get along with Reed.”</p><p>Trip frowned. Reed? She thought he would squander a once-in-a-lifetime request on that pile of dog shit? “No,” he said. “This is about T’Pol.”</p><p>Sato laughed. “You’ll have to get in line, Commander. She nearly killed <em>all</em> of us.” He heard the unspoken “including me.” Her claim trumped his as far as she was concerned. She had no damn idea how wrong she was, but he wasn’t about to correct her—not completely.</p><p>“My, uh—” he searched for the right word, “—complaint isn’t about what she almost did to the <em>Defiant</em>.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Sato wasn’t convinced, but she waved a hand in a lazy gesture. “By all means, don’t keep me in suspense.”</p><p>Trip glanced at Mayweather, hating that the young man was going to be privy to the humiliation he was about to admit to Sato. This had better be worth it. “T’Pol forced a mind-meld on me. She had me sabotage the cloaking device and then wiped my memory.” His lip curled in genuine contempt. “And after I spent four hours in the agony booth, she even had the gall to boast about what she’d done to my face.” He was never going to forgive her for that.</p><p>“And you can prove this?” Mayweather asked.</p><p>Trip kept his gaze trained on the empress. “Yes.”</p><p>Sato shook her head, mouth stretching in a thorny grin. “I always knew that Vulcan bitch was capable of some dirty tricks, but this? Oh, this is <em>rich</em>. It’s a shame she picked the wrong side. I could do so much with a devious mind like hers.” Sato’s sigh was awfully wistful as she looked Trip over, giving him the unsettling notion that she suddenly wished that he’d turned out to be the traitor instead of T’Pol. “Her life is mine, Commander.”</p><p>Wrong. Wrong. <em>Wrong</em>. Rage bubbled in his chest, coursed white hot through his veins. It took all of his restraint not to jump the dais and wipe that smug look off the petite woman’s face—<em>permanently</em>.</p><p>He’d ask what the hell was wrong with him, but he already knew the answer. The bond.</p><p>“But I can be generous to my loyal subjects,” Sato continued, unaware that the man she so cavalierly addressed was anything but loyal to her. “You can’t have her life, but maybe I’ll let you have a little fun with her before her execution. <em>If”</em>—she held up a finger—“you bring me that proof.”</p><p>He pasted on a smile he hoped looked appropriately grateful as he bowed low. “You’ll have it, your majesty. Thank you.”</p><p>Dismissed, Trip left the throne room alone, thoughts already spinning on the next phase of his burgeoning plan.</p>
<hr/><p>T’Pol’s eyes fluttered open at the sudden jolt of pain slicing down her spine. One of the guards was yanking her binds undone, each tug sending another serrated spike through stiff muscles. A wave of prickles shot through her previously numb limbs. The sensation was decidedly uncomfortable, but hardly the worst she’d endured. She glanced up at the other guard, a man with hard lines drawn into his rough features. He aimed a phase pistol at her with one hand, a set of restraints dangling from the other.</p><p>She raised a brow. “What is the meaning of this?” Her voice was hoarse from disuse, but steady.</p><p>“Shut up, traitor!” the man in front of her spat. Michaels. That was his name.</p><p>Free of the chains, she rose from the chair on unsteady legs and held her arms forward, ignoring the slight tremor in her hands. She kept her gaze fixed on Michaels as he holstered his weapon and stepped forward. He’d only done so after his companion pressed a pistol into her side. If she were inclined, she would find their fear of her—in her half-starved, beaten-down state—amusing. But she felt nothing.</p><p>The restraints were heavier than she anticipated, and it took some effort to keep her expression neutral when her arms dropped with another swell of agony.</p><p>The guard at her side shoved her toward the exit. “Move, Vulcan.”</p><p>She complied, but apparently not fast enough as he shoved her again. Her first few steps were precarious until momentum made up for her sluggish body. As they led her down the corridor and pushed her into a turbolift, she chose not to contemplate what might lie ahead of her. She did, however, lift a brow when an automated voice had announced their destination a minute later. The imperial deck.</p><p>Was it time finally?</p><p>With the brisk pace her jailers set, it took only ninety-seven seconds from the lift to the empress’s throne. T’Pol found the decor in the newly constructed hall to be shamefully lavish. After all, it wasn’t only the nonhumans who were mistreated for the sake of the comforts of the elite—though they bore the brunt of the abuse. She had seen impoverished Terran mining and farming colonies, had helped the Empire extort their own citizens, all in the name of “protection.”</p><p>“Kneel before her majesty, the empress of the Terran Empire!” Michaels commanded her.</p><p>T’Pol didn’t move, didn’t bother to look up at the figure lounging on the opulent throne. Instead her gaze was drawn to Commander Tucker who stood at the base of the dais, hands clasped behind his back at attention. Though his face was devoid of emotion, his clear, blue eyes betrayed a restrained fury when he glanced at her. Mayweather was at his side, wearing a hint of a predatory smile.</p><p>“I said <em>kneel</em>, you Vulcan trash!” Michaels punctuated his demand with a boot in her back.</p><p>Her knees hit the floor with a crack that reverberated through her bones. She caught the rest of her fall with her hands, and an image flashed across her mind of breaking Michaels’s nose with her fist. It was quick and disorienting. She’d felt no anger at his actions, and yet the aberrant thought seemed to confirm otherwise.</p><p>She pushed back onto her heels and looked up at the Empire’s current tyrant.</p><p>Sato took T’Pol’s measure with haughty disdain before turning to Tucker and Mayweather. “As promised, Commander,” she said. “Your pound of flesh—for whatever it’s worth. Use and abuse her as you will. Just remember there <em>will</em> be an execution in three days. Take her life before I can, and your head will be on the chopping block.”</p><p>Another image flashed. This time T’Pol’s hands were at Sato’s throat, squeezing. She blinked it away, bewildered. Again, she had felt nothing but acceptance of her circumstances. No rage. No thirst for retribution. She was Vulcan. She did not have violent fantasies.</p><p>“Understood, your majesty,” Tucker said.</p><p>“Good.” Sato flicked her wrist. “Now, go make her pay for what she’s done to you.”</p><p>“Gladly.” He looked at T’Pol, a menacing grin stretching across his mouth as he crossed the short distance between them. He nodded at her guards, grabbed the chain between her manacles and pulled her to her feet. “I’ve got it from here, boys. Your services are no longer required.”</p><p>Not waiting for a reply, he dragged T’Pol toward the exit.</p><p>“Oh, Commander,” Sato called out as they reached the doors.</p><p>The muscles in Tucker’s jaw flexed briefly, but when he turned around his face as a mask of deference.</p><p>“Make sure she doesn’t miss her daily appointment with our new agony booth.” Sato examined her nails and went on in a bored voice, “There’s a reward for whoever breaks her first. The general and I have a little bet going. He thinks Major Reed will get the job done, but I believe you are <em>uniquely</em> qualified to discover which of T’Pol’s buttons to push. We’ll see who wins.”</p><p>“Yes, we will,” Tucker said, “your majesty.” He gave Sato a deep bow.</p><p>More deviant thoughts flickered through T’Pols mind in rapid succession, slipping away before she could catch more than a glimpse. Brutal assaults against the empress, against Mayweather, Reed, her guards. They were extraneous. <em>Foreign</em>.</p><p>Eyes rounding, she glanced at Tucker with disquiet stirring in her middle. Were those <em>his</em> thoughts? Projected to her across a link she had somehow forged with him? As quickly as the unwelcome revelation dawned, reality smothered the startling implications.</p><p>In three days, she would become a martyr to her cause—<em>unbroken</em> as she refused to give Sato and all humans that satisfaction—and Tucker would return to his engine room, finally free of the bond that so obviously tormented him.</p>
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